Casey V The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party
by Wepdiggy
Summary: Two of my favorite things. Casey, and SEC football. When a new rogue cell is traced to a certain football game in Jacksonville, Team Bartowski must investigate. Who is leading these rogues? And what will Casey do to them? Please read and review!


_Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I don't own the title "The World's Greatest Outdoor Cocktail Party". No harm is intended in this fic, and any likeness to real life events, or real persons is simply coincidence, or parody. I certainly don't mean any harm to Timmy Teabag…I mean Tebow, haha. _

_A/N: Okay, so this is an idea I've had for a fic for a long time, and I was finally inspired to write it by Yokaputo's new baseball fic (which is really sweet, and fun, and you should read it). It was fun to write something that mixed my love of "Chuck", with my love for college football. Originally, I was going to focus this on Chuck and Sarah's day at an SEC football game, but that idea just felt flat to me. So I decided that it was time for Wep to write a Casey fic, and what better place besides a battlefield for our favorite NSA agent? Why the American football field, of course! This is just some light, fluffy fun, and hopefully, you'll enjoy it. And even if you don't enjoy it, or even if you're a Florida fan, I hope that you'll leave me a review. Thanks!

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**Casey vs. the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party**

It had been a long time since he was on the gridiron. Hell, too long. Of course, he never really thought he'd be back on a football field, and certainly not as an official.

But such was the nature of the spy game. You constantly found yourself in unpredictable situations, and you had to adapt. And no one adapted better than John Casey. He was a master of unlikely covers.

Just since the Intersect mission began he'd been a bartender multiple times, a limo driver on occasion, a message therapist, a cable guy, a deejay, and any other number of random professions that were required of him to assume. And all of that didn't even include having to be a freaking sales associate, or "Green Shirt", at a Buy More on a daily basis.

At least in that, Casey was back on familiar ground. No, it wasn't the battlefields of some war-torn country, defending the rights of the American people, but it wasn't far off.

Back at West Point, Casey had lettered in football all four years. He'd led Army in tackles his final three, and developed a reputation with the opponents of the Black Knights as one tough hombre. Those opponents had no idea just _how_ tough he was.

But now John Casey was back, if only for a day. A tip had come down the pipe that the remnants of Fulcrum were being courted by a new power. The face of this organization, their intentions, and even their name was unknown at the time, but traces placed on the personal accounts of the former Fulcrum operatives in question had placed them here: Jacksonville, Florida, on this day: October 31, 2009. And the purchases that the NSA had traced had led Team Bartowski to this college football game, Florida vs. Georgia.

No doubt the folks in charge of this bad guy meet and greet had hoped that they could lose any government company in the mass of people that flocked to town for this annual rivalry game that many still refer to as "The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party". Of course, those folks hadn't counted on the Intersect team to be on hand either. Team Bartowski always got their man. _Or woman_, Casey reminded himself. He then silently cursed himself for his moment of political correctness. Living in LA for the past two years surrounded by tree-huggers and other hippie types was starting to wear on him.

Chuck and Sarah were posing as a couple of college kids for the event. They'd tailgated, and gone through all of the game day festivities that were expected in this part of the country. Casey had no doubt his partners had taken the opportunity to be extra touchy-feely with one another, as well. That thought made him happy that he hadn't had to be there to watch to outpouring of "lady feelings". He'd had to be in the officials' locker room, preparing for his current role of umpire on the crew. He got to be down here on the field with _real_ men. Well, real men, and some pretty cheerleaders who he was sure had taken notice of the buff official with "U" on his back, and some idiots in mascot suits. Oh, and that lousy, ugly dog.

So far, the efforts of the team had been fruitless. Sarah and Chuck had had a couple of false alarms as they wandered around, first outside the stadium, and now inside, but nothing really to speak of yet.

And time was winding down in the game. There was only, _oh hell_, there was only a minute left to go! Shit on a stick, this was going to be a _long_ night if they didn't wrap things up in a hurry.

The clock continued to dwindle down, and things were looking bleak. On the last play of the game, Florida scored to pull within one point of the underdog Georgia Bulldogs, and the Gator's coaching staff called timeout to evaluate their options.

When the timeout was over, it was Florida's offense, not their kicking team that took the field. They were going for two and the win now. There would be no overtime today, which made Casey begin to dread the night ahead even more. Then the NSA agent posing as a football official heard his ear-piece crackle to life.

"Casey, I flashed," Chuck said.

"And?" Casey covertly asked into his watch.

"It's an off chute of the Ring. Kind of a youth movement. And I see their leader."

"Spit it out, Bartowski," Casey growled.

"It's number fifteen for Florida."

Casey looked up to see number fifteen, the Florida quarterback preparing to take the shotgun snap from center. The agent grinned predatorily.

The snap from center came to the quarterback, and he rushed forward, attempting to score the two-point conversion himself. He broke one tackle from a Georgia defender, and it looked like he had a clear opening into the end zone. Then, as if from nowhere, the umpire came swooping in like an eagle from the sky. Casey buried his shoulder into number fifteen, and scored an instant takedown. Florida's hopes of winning and staying undefeated had come up one yard short, and number fifteen's days of running a rogue organization were over as well, as Casey cuffed the quarterback, and prepared to take him into custody.

It was not great to be a Florida Gator that day. It was the best "Cocktail Party" game ever.

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_A/N: Hehe, that's it for now. Go Gamecocks! And you guys are awesome. Peace. _


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